by Lex Martin
A hole gapes open inside of me wider and deeper than it should be considering how little I know about her, but it’s there. And by the second, it fills with disappointment and lost possibilities.
“So . . . is it serious?” I wince internally. If there’s anything more douchey than trying to kiss another guy’s girl, it would be asking, in so many words, if she’s sure she wants to stay faithful to him.
“Yeah.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “We’ve been dating about a year.”
She finally looks up at me, and at least the battle in her expression, the struggle reflected back to me from her eyes, assures me I’m not imagining the pull between us.
“I should have told you, but that would have been weird.” She smiles ruefully. “I would have sounded like I was assuming you wanted more than . . .”
We stare at each other in a silence rich with things I shouldn’t say.
“I do want more than.” I manage a smile, though I’m frustrated and not just sexually. I’m downright devastated that some other guy got here before I did.
“I’m sorry.” She stuffs her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I was enjoying our conversation so much. I didn’t want to . . . I hope I didn’t mislead you.”
“You didn’t.” I stuff my hands in my pockets, too, to keep from touching her again. “At least I made a new friend.”
Friend.
It sounds hollow compared to what I thought we could be, but I can’t demand more. I can’t make her give me more. I’m on the eve of something most men only dream of, and this bright-eyed girl has made me feel helpless.
“Yeah.” Her face relaxes a little into a smile. “A friend.”
“And you helped take my mind off tomorrow’s game.”
As soon as I say it, both of our eyes go wide. I check my watch, dreading the time.
Fuck.
Curfew.
Was I so absorbed by this girl that I forgot curfew before the biggest game of my life?
Yeah, I was.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes are anxious, worried. “The game. You’ve missed curfew.”
The hunger, the heat, the rightness between us had made me shove every other thought aside, but they all intrude now. Curfew. The rest of the team, asleep and accounted for at the hotel. Tomorrow’s game.
"Will you get in trouble?" she asks, frowning.
“It won’t be the first time I’ve had to sneak in,” I tell her with more confidence than I actually feel. The biggest game of my life, and I lost track of time with a girl in a bar.
But what a girl.
Looking at her, replaying every moment, every joke, every memory we shared over the last few hours, I can’t regret it.
“Let me at least walk you home.” Curfew or not, there’s no way I’m letting her go alone.
“No. I’m really close.”
This part of the city is completely commercial as far as I can tell, not residential. “Your apartment is nearby? Or are you staying at a hotel?”
Does she live here? Is she visiting? A student? Is she in town for the game? Will she be there tomorrow? Does she want tickets to come see me play? All the things we did talk about are suddenly less important than all the things we never said. I don’t even know her damn name. “Gumbo” won’t get me very far after tonight. Panic tightens my body into a drawn bow. Even if it’s never more than what we had tonight—the honesty, humor, ease, empathy— I want to continue with her. I’ll even settle for the dreaded word—friendship.
“I’ll walk you home,” I insist.
“I’ll be fine.” She looks down at the ground and then back at me. The end is in her eyes. I see goodbye, and I want to stop it before it reaches her lips, but I don’t.
“Goodbye, August. Good luck tomorrow.” She turns and starts up the sidewalk.
I want to chase her. To follow and find out where she lives or where she’s staying. Even knowing some lucky bastard found her first, I can’t imagine having no idea how to find her again.
“Hey, wait,” I call after her, forcing my feet not to follow. “You should at least tell me your name. Do you really want me to think of you as Gumbo forever?”
She faces me but keeps walking backward, steadily putting more space between us. Between this night and the rest of our lives. Mischief lights her eyes, and the sly smile playing around her lips makes me think for a terrible moment that she won’t tell me.
“It’s Iris,” she calls back to me. “My name is Iris.”
I stay still, absorbing the sound of her name, absorbing the look on her face as she walks out of my life with as little fanfare as she entered it. Her smile dies off, and she’s staring at me like she wants to remember my face—like she won’t forget tonight either. Like maybe, unreasonably, undeniably, this night meant as much to her as it did to me. If she felt it, too, this connection, she can’t be walking away, but she is. I’ve only known her a few hours. It’s unreasonable that desperation bands my chest and panic shortens my breath, like I’m sprinting.
Except I’m standing still. And she’s still walking.
Walking and turning the corner, out of my sight.
She takes my hope for more with her when she goes.
Iris
Anticipation charges the arena, every breath I draw making my heart race that much faster. I’m sitting in the best seats money didn’t even have to buy at the NCAA Championship, yet the basketball game is the last thing on my mind.
“You’re as nervous as a live lobster in a boiling pot.” Lotus’s words are a splash of cold water across my face. Am I that obvious? I feel obvious, like there’s a huge neon sign flashing over my head. I keep telling myself that nothing happened with August last night. I have nothing to feel guilty about, but guilt gnaws through my rationale.
“It’s a big game for Caleb.” I shrug, hoping it looks more casual than I feel. “Of course I’m nervous for him.”
“I get that,” Lotus says. “But you’re downright agitated. Keep bouncing your knee like that and you’ll cause a quake in here.”
Even after she says it, my knee can’t stop hopping, my foot tapping out an erratic rhythm on the stadium floor.
“Bo, what the hell?” Lotus demands, shortening Gumbo as only she does. She presses her hand to my knee, forcing it still. “Seriously, I know this is a huge night for Caleb, but chill.”
I stare down at the court, searching for my boyfriend in the clusters of players shooting around and warming up for the biggest game of their lives. I didn’t want to distract him before the game by telling him I met August West, but what will I tell him after? A conversation at a bar during a Lakers game is no big deal, but somehow, I know Caleb won’t agree.
“Are you even hearing me?” The concern in Lotus’s dark eyes jars me out of my head.
“Yeah. Sorry.” I finally give her my full attention. “I’ll try to relax.”
She searches my face, and I force myself not to look away. Braids spill over her shoulders and arms. High, slanting cheekbones and a narrow chin lend her face an almost feline quality. She’s slim and emanates strength. I’m not sure if it’s the jut of her jaw, her obstinate chin, or her wise eyes. Or maybe it’s something beneath her skin, built into her bones.
We come from a long line of Louisiana’s famous high priestesses. Our great-grandmother MiMi was the last of them. Her daughter, our grandmother, had no desire to stay in the relative seclusion of a small bayou parish but wanted the excitement of New Orleans. A divide grew between MiMi and the other women of our family, and it seems the mystical power will die with her when she leaves this earth. But sometimes I swear I see traces of it in Lotus.
My skin may be several shades lighter than the smooth cinnamon of hers, but we’ve never let a little melanin and our one-year age gap come between us. We’ve needed each other too much. Lotus has been my constant, and I’ve been hers.
Even the years when she went to live on the bayou with MiMi and I stayed in the city, the miles between u
s didn’t weaken our bond. Though I never keep anything from her, I haven’t breathed a word about last night’s conversation with August.
The roaring crowd, the scantily dressed cheerleaders, and the swarm of cameras and commentators along the periphery of the court all fade, and I remember last night. August’s baseball cap provided a flimsy disguise, and I recognized him as soon as he sat beside me. The lean, powerful body, the chiseled jaw and sculpted lips, the bronzed skin—all dead giveaways.
Caleb has talked about August before, of course, and I know a lot about his game because I stay on top of sports. The media fixated on him during March Madness while his team continued their unlikely road to the Final Four. Caleb and August have been competing against one another since middle school and aren’t exactly friends.
None of that prepared me for who August West actually is. I discovered a depth in him that was surprising and refreshing. His vulnerability was so unexpected and at odds with the strength of his public image. Maybe it’s the vulnerability that enhances his strength.
A dozen times, I started to tell him I’m Caleb’s girlfriend. I have to admit, at least to myself, that I didn’t tell him because I thought he might leave. I was enjoying the conversation so much, and that was the last thing I wanted to happen. It won’t matter since I’ll probably never see him again.
I run a hand through my hair, flat-ironed straight and tamed the way Caleb likes it. I’ve made more of an effort tonight because this is such a huge milestone for him. I even wore the outfit he asked me to wear, the one he gave me for my birthday, though it shows a little more of my body than I typically would. Left to me, I would have worn his jersey, a pair of jeans, and Chucks.
No, Jordans.
I wiggle my toes in the boots I paired with this tight-ass skirt. The top is cropped just beneath my breasts, leaving my stomach almost completely bare. Lotus says I look good, but that isn’t the point. I’m at a freaking basketball game, not a club.
“Hey, there’s your boy,” she says, nodding down toward the court. “And he looks as nervous as you do.”
Lotus is right. There’s a tightness in Caleb’s expression and across his shoulders that doesn’t bode well for his jump shot. He glances all over the arena, searching for something. It’s not until he catches my eyes and smiles that I realize he was looking for me. I set aside my guilt and nervousness long enough to give him the smile, the reassurance, I know he needs tonight.
“Aren’t his parents posted up in one of those fancy luxury rooms?” Lotus directs her gaze to the row of VIP boxes elevated above the rest of the arena.
“Yeah, but I like to sit in the stands,” I tell her. “And Caleb likes to see me here.”
I blow him a kiss, and his smile grows wider, lighting his handsome face. Caleb is the same height as August, six-six, and he’s just as powerfully built. His blond hair, tanned skin, and nearly navy blue eyes make him quite literally the golden boy of college basketball. There’s nothing to indicate that he won’t be just as popular in the NBA.
He turns to practice a few dribbling drills. He’ll need all the practice he can get if he’s going to outshoot August tonight, though I honestly don’t know if he can. I hate doubting him, but we haven’t seen a perimeter shooter like August in a long time. Caleb’s team is the defending champion. He got his ring last year, but I know beating his longtime rival to win another would be especially sweet for him.
“That man loves you, girl,” Lotus says. “And I didn’t think any guy could get you out of the library.”
“Neither did I.”
I had a scholarship to keep and wasn’t going to be distracted by any guy. I was working the register when Caleb came into the bookstore needing a book for his psychology class. He showed up every morning for weeks with a cup of coffee for me until I agreed to go out with him. He’s practically a celebrity on our campus, so of course I was flattered. I didn’t take his interest in me seriously, though. I assumed he was exactly the kind of guy I should avoid, but he wore me down and he proved me wrong. We laughed together. We talked basketball. He treated me well and made me feel special.
“Well you caught yourself a big fish, as our mamas would say.” The same bitterness about the men who passed through my life rings in Lotus’s voice. “Now just to keep him.”
“If anything, he’s trying to keep me.” I grimace at how that sounds. “What I mean is you know I care about Caleb.”
“Of course,” Lotus says, watching me closely.
“It’s just lately, it seems like he’s asking for so much more.”
I hesitate, not wanting to paint Caleb in a bad light, but Lo lifts her brows and nods her encouragement for me to go on.
“He’s been dropping hints about marriage and that he wants me to move with him to the city that drafts him.”
“But what if your opportunities aren’t in whatever random city drafts him?” Lo’s brows pinch together. “He knows you want to pursue your career in sports marketing, right?”
“Of course. Yeah, I’ve always been up front about that,” I say. “But now with the draft approaching, he doesn’t want a long-distance relationship, so it keeps coming up.”
I’ve always plotted my path in the opposite direction of my mother’s. Independence. Not relying on a man. Making my own way. If there’s one thing I know about my course, it’s that I have to stay on it.
“Well speaking of.” Lotus elbows me. “Your future father-in-law is heading our way.” She nods toward Caleb’s father and his cousin, approaching through the crowded stands, stopping every so often to smile and chat.
“Would you stop saying that?” Exasperation weights my sigh. “It’s bad enough everyone else assumes Caleb and I are already practically engaged.”
“To hear Aunt Priscilla tell it, you’ll be married and pregnant by Christmas.”
“Pregnant?” I scowl. “Mama would love that. The higher Caleb goes in the draft, the more she’ll want a grandbaby to hook him for life. That’s the last thing I’m thinking about. A baby right now would ruin all my plans.”
“What’s the rush anyway?” Lotus adjusts an errant lock of hair until it knows its place on my shoulder. “Why’s Caleb so eager to get married?”
“I know. What’s wrong with a long-distance relationship? I’m not ready for marriage. It’s too soon.”
“Do you love him?” Lo’s eyes pick around the edges of my expression.
“Sure.” I shrug, looking down at my knees. “I mean, we say it to each other, but does that mean he’s the one? I don’t know. We’ve been dating a year. We started as friends, and he’s gorgeous and smart and considerate. I’d be crazy not to love him, right? He’s perfect.”
Lotus puts her hand over mine. “Hey, look at me.”
I meet her eyes, braced for whatever she’s about to say.
“It doesn’t matter if he’s perfect, Bo, if he’s not perfect for you.” She squeezes my fingers. “You need a guy who respects your ambitions and your dreams.”
“I think Caleb can be that guy.”
But even as I say it, I question if it’s true. If my ambitions took me to one place and Caleb to another, would he expect me to follow him? Would I lose him if I didn’t? I hope I don’t have to choose. I know how important basketball is to him, but does he really understand how important my dreams are to me?
“Just be sure,” Lotus says, pasting on a plastic smile and aiming it over my shoulder. “In the meantime, here comes papa.”
“Good evening, ladies,” Caleb’s father says, finally making his way to stand in front of us.
Donald Bradley’s smile is always as carefully coordinated as his ties and tailor-made suits. The word that comes to mind is calculating, like he’s added you up and subtracted you to determine how much of his time and attention you merit. His every movement is smooth, but there is a hardness to him that makes me wonder if there’s really a heart beating beneath that silk shirt. He’s so much like Caleb physically—the same golden hair and dark
blue eyes—but Caleb doesn’t have that hard smoothness.
Not yet.
It’s a whisper I try to ignore. The thought of Caleb evolving into his father drops a bag of stones in my belly.
“Hi, Mr. Bradley.” I glance up at the man beside him, forcing a smile for Caleb’s cousin. “Hey, Andrew.”
“Hey,” Andrew replies politely. Neutral is the word I always associate with him. He’s in medical school, so I know he has his own talents, but beside the vitality of his superstar cousin, there is something . . . bland, beige about him. Like he’ll match whatever’s around him, absorb whatever he needs to in any given situation. Maybe that’s not the worst thing, but it makes him hard to read. When you grow up with a series of creepy “uncles” in your house like we did, you learn to read men’s intentions. What makes me wary of Andrew is I can never read his.
“You’re both welcome to join Barbara and me up in the box,” Mr. Bradley says. “We’ve got quite a spread up there to celebrate after my boy wins tonight.”
“I’m fine here for now.” I try to warm my lukewarm smile. “I like being close to the action.”
“And I’m sure Caleb wants to see you in the stands.” He looks at me sternly. “But tonight at the party, work the room some. A beautiful wife is a huge asset for a man like Caleb. We’ve got as much work to do off the court as we do on it.”
My teeth grind together. I have so many things I want to do before I settle down. And right now, none of them involve being a baller’s trophy wife.
“I’ll support Caleb in every way that I can,” I say. “Just as I’m sure he’ll support the things I want to pursue.”
Mr. Bradley wears a pleased smile and pats my shoulder. “There are all kinds of charities and committees for the players’ wives that I’m sure you’ll enjoy.”
“We’ll see how much time I have,” I tell him. “I’ve applied for several internships, including one with St. Louis.”
I don’t have to wait long for his reaction.
“St. Louis?” His thick brows lower and clump over his eyes. “My team?”
Mr. Bradley, already in the Hall of Fame as a player, is a front office executive for the St. Louis expansion team. He’s built many teams from nothing into championship-caliber squads.
